


Wait it Out

by icantbestill29



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantbestill29/pseuds/icantbestill29
Summary: Rachel is the one running now.Rachel's POV from Chapters 16-18 of I Hate Everything About You.





	Wait it Out

She supposed it would all be easier if she condensed everything into a neat list. Break Sarah's heart, check. Walk away without looking back, check. Hop on a plane to Paris, check. Drink until the ache dissipates, check. Check, check, check. Ticking each item off made it smaller, somehow. Made it easier to breathe.

The motions of a list soothed her through her entire flight, helped her to ignore the lump in her throat, to gulp down dry martini after martini, conveniently forgetting what had occurred the last time she had drunk gin. It carried her through checking into her cavernous hotel suite, drowned out the quiet, helped her take a long bath, choke down some food from room service. The lights of Paris were nothing like Toronto and Rachel took small comfort in that, and that she could shake her head and rid it of the look on Sarah's face when she had pulled away. She stared out of her hotel window, relieved when her expression reflected back at her blankly.

The numbness, as it had done for most of her life, serviced her well. It carried her on walks along the Seine, to galleries, to shops where she would run her fingers idly down silk scarves and furs and buy nothing at all. It was when she sat down to paint, as she was gazing at a blank canvas, brush in hand, that her lungs began to ache and she gasped for air, closing her eyes against the swirling panic taking up residence in her very existence.

What is it that Sarah said to do, she tried to remember. In and out...in and out...Rachel struggled to focus, struggled to follow the directions of a ghost...of someone she'd _made_ a ghost. For a good minute, she couldn't get enough oxygen and then something settled, quieted, and she took a deep breath. She was crying again but they were not silent, idle tears this time. Her body convulsed with great heaving sobs as it had remembered what she'd given up when she had left Toronto. It brought her to the floor and if she had had any shame left, she would have been mortified to once again be in this position, so bereft over her own stupidity that she fell apart. There was no Sarah to swoop in and save her. That was her own doing too.

Even after she picked herself up and put herself back together (something she was particularly adept at), something had cracked wide open. Sarah was not only a ghost, she was an illusion too, and Rachel saw her everywhere. The mere sight of a woman with a slight build and long dark hair immediately set her heart racing and as she was battling with herself whether or not to place a hand upon her shoulder, the woman would always turn and sinkingly, Rachel would realize it wasn't her.

She couldn't be entirely certain if the knowledge was a disappointment or a relief.

It was raining the day she stumbled upon the postcard. Paris, when it was sunny was breathtaking and she could manage to race through the day in an effort to stay busy. Paris, when it was dreary, seemed threatening, like it could hurt her, and she'd tried to push back at it by sipping at wine while painting, ignoring the fear, but her chest tightened anyway.

Rachel cultivated loneliness. It was never bothersome, more a comfort. But somehow, standing in a sea of black umbrellas, watching as people hurried by, eager to escape the rain, she was suddenly acutely aware of how very alone she was and for the first time, it bled into her skin, closed her throat.

Get out, a voice in her ear nagged again, and once more, she listened. Her journey brought her into a tiny cafe in Saint-Germain. It wasn't crowded, only littered with others who had hoped to get out of the rain. She ordered a coffee and sat at a table directly in front of a rack of postcards. The next thing she knew, she had risen and was idly thumbing through each and every black and white glossy image until she found something appropriately generic and bought it.

Being at a loss for words, written or otherwise, wasn't something that happened often and Rachel found herself staring at the blank space on the back of the card, pen poised in mid-air. She didn't suppose there was anything that would explain her actions. An apology seemed trite and there was the possibility Sarah would toss it in the bin without even reading it. But she owed her that much. Not out of courtesy or obligation but because she loved her. The admission wasn't startling. She had come to terms with her feelings months ago and that also meant she had to come to terms with the fact it would end. Sarah hadn't understood or hadn't wanted to understand, what Rachel knew to be fact: that Sarah deserved more than what she could ever give her. Finally, she brought pen to page and carefully wrote out where she was and that she was well. (A lie). She ended with the wish that Sarah was fine too before she grabbed it and practically bolted out of the cafe.

For the next two weeks, Rachel forced herself to sit in her misery as she knew she deserved. She continued to see Sarah wherever she went, so she stopped leaving her suite, a temporary solution to the problem because the other woman began bleeding into her dreams, so vividly that Rachel would wake up in a frenzy. She had memorized every muscle, how it felt under her fingertips, the way to curl her palm where Sarah's hip fit, the familiar sharpness of her incisors as they cut into Rachel's lower lip. It wasn't long after that she nearly stopped sleeping entirely.

It hurt, all of it, in places she didn't think could hurt. She was exhausted. Tired of fighting, tired of running. The ache she had thought had been guilt turned out not to be. The guilt, she could live with, knew it would eventually fade out, but it was the fighting that drained her. She had fought, always, to stay afloat, to win, to survive, and she had done it alone because she had to.

She could run to the ends of the earth, if she wanted. Disappear, assume an new identity, and eventually, Sarah would heal, she would move on. The problem was, _Sarah_ would move on. _Sarah_ would forget about her. Was it because Sarah had been the only person since her father to show her kindness or was it because she knew that she was incapable of loving anyone else, since she had done a miserable job of it with someone she loved as much as her meager heart would allow?

The night she returned to Toronto was bitterly cold but as she got out of the car service, she turned her face to the air, letting it hit her cheeks, watching her breath ebb in little circles. It was a breath she'd been holding for weeks. Months, years, probably, and as she let it out, she felt some of the knot loosen. Relinquishing control felt good, if not entirely comfortable, but Rachel knew it was up to Sarah now. She had permitted Troy to tell Sarah's brother and sister where she was when they came to the penthouse and all she could do was wait and hope when the time came, words didn't fail her, that she didn't set things wrong again. The matter was ironic; Rachel, who held people of little worth, was concerned about hurting someone again, about what the other woman thought of her. It was enough to send her running again but she simply bit the inside of her cheek, hard, and narrowed her eyes against the cowardice.

It was on Christmas Eve that she got the call down from Troy telling her Sarah was there to see her. The snow fell in lacy patterns against the window and she sipped her wine slowly, her eyes not moving from the pane. Five days worth of anticipation had taken its toll and she could feel nothing but utter exhaustion. The door creaked open and Rachel could hear the familiar clomp of footsteps. Absent was Sarah's usual swagger, the feet on the hardwood sounded hesitant, almost as if she didn't know whether to come closer or break into a run. As the footsteps drew near, Rachel's heart began to pound of its own free will. _Sarah_ , every atom in her body cried out. _Sarah, Sarah, Sarah_. She turned slowly, Sarah's figure silhouetted in shadow. Even though she couldn't make out her features, Rachel drew in a quick breath, and just as quickly stifled it. _Breathe_ , she instructed herself sharply. _You don't have to run anymore._  

"Hello, Sarah."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Imogen Heap song of the same name.  
>   
> Where do we go from here?  
> How do we carry on?  
> I can't get beyond the questions.  
> Clambering for the scraps  
> In the shatter of us collapsed.  
> It cuts me with every could-have-been. 
> 
> Pain on pain on play, repeating  
> With the backup makeshift life in waiting. 
> 
> Everybody says that time heals everything.  
> But what of the wretched hollow?  
> The endless in-between?  
> Are we just going to wait it out? 
> 
> There's nothing to see here now,  
> Turning the sign around;  
> We're closed to the Earth 'til further notice.  
> Clambering for the scraps,  
> Clambering in the light.  
> We're closed to the Earth 'til further... 
> 
> An all-out one, only one street-level miracle.  
> I'll be a an out-and-out, born again from none more cynical. 
> 
> Everybody says that time heals everything.  
> But what of the wretched hollow?  
> The endless in-between?  
> Are we just going to wait it out? 
> 
> And sit here cold?  
> Look, you'll be long gone by then.  
> And lackluster in dust we lay  
> 'round old magazines.  
> Fluorescent lighting sets the scene  
> For all we could and should being  
> In the one life that we've got. 
> 
> Everybody says that time heals everything.  
> But what of the wretched hollow?  
> The endless in-between? 
> 
> Are we just going to wait it out?  
> Just going to sweat it out?  
> Just going to sweat it out?  
> Wait it out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed it!


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